


Ghost in This House (JohnLock AU)

by Sini333



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: John is a human, M/M, Sherlock is a ghost, Suicidal Sherlock, unlikely lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 23:01:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10954536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sini333/pseuds/Sini333
Summary: When John Watson's new flat turns out to be haunted, can he learn to live with the temperamental spirit that calls his flat home?





	1. Ghost In This House

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a OneShot and wound up becoming it's own book. Hope you guys like it!!! Enjoy<3

When John first moved into the flat, he didn’t notice anything strange or amiss. This lovely little flat on Baker street, that came fully furnished and full of strange items. The landlady, Mrs. Hudson, told him that he could keep the furniture if he wanted, but he wasn’t allowed to throw any of the clutter out. All she would say in explanation was that she knew the young man it all had belonged to and he might return for it one day. So, John left everything where it was. Its not like he had a lot of stuff to fill an empty flat.

He was living there for almost three weeks when things started to get weird. His tea would suddenly fall off the table, or the kitchen cabinets would slam closed if he left them open.

He brushed it off at first, his mind rationalizing the events by coming up with barely plausible theories. It was a breeze, or he moved too quickly. They didn’t fit, but they were better than the alternative.

Then he came home to find one of the science textbooks flying towards his head.

“What the fuck?” He shouted as he hit the floor, covering his head and looking around desperately. There was no explaining this away. Once he was certain there were no more flying objects, he rose to his feet, chewing nervously at his lip.

He was too young for this, living in a haunted flat. He had exams coming up and he needed to focus.

“A-Alright, um, what’s your name?” There was no answer, but the air in the flat suddenly got cold. “My- my name is John.” He yelped as a teacup flew at him, shattering against the wall behind his head. “Hey! Stop breaking my shit!” He snapped, feeling his frustration rising. “This is my flat now, you can stay here if you want, but if you keep breaking my stuff I’m going to have to get rid of you. Deal?” There was silence, no more books or mugs flying at his head. John nodded and went about his day, trying to come up with a plan as to how to deal with his new flatmate.

 

 

“What am I going to do Greg?” John whined, dropping his head to the table with a painful thud. “This fucking ghost is getting worse.” He had told his buddy Greg about his little ghost problem, and now he spent most nights at the pub with his friend.

“Maybe you just need to talk to him.”

“I’ve tried that. It always winds up with me on the floor and textbooks being thrown at my skull. It found my gun Greg! My fucking gun! I had to hide it in a salted lockbox just to stop it from shooting the bloody walls.”

“I don’t mean you talk to him and piss him off-”

“How do you know it’s a he?”

“How do you know its not?” John shrugged, taking a swig of his beer. “Anyway, what I mean is do like a séance or something.”

“Really? A séance? What is this, a cheesy horror flick?”

“You are whining about a ghost shooting your walls and you are skeptical about preforming a séance?”

“Shut up.” John sighed, rubbing his face with his hands and finishing off his pint. An idea struck him, one that he hoped would work. “I’ve got to get going. I’ll see you tomorrow?” He dropped a couple of bills on the table and left, heading to the nearest office supply store.

 

 

“Alright, I have an idea. I want to talk to you, like a full conversation. So, I got you this,” John held out a whiteboard and marker, hoping the ghost was listening. “You can use this to talk to me. I-I’ll leave it on the fridge. I want to try to make this work, so just, behave, please?” He hung the whiteboard on the fridge and headed upstairs to bed.

 

When he came down the next morning, the whiteboard was blank. He sighed, rolling his eyes and going about making his morning tea. There was a rustling behind him and he turned to see the whiteboard marker hovering in the air in front of the whiteboard.

“Hey. What’s your name?”

_Sherlock Holmes_

“Nice to meet you Sherlock. How long have you been here?”

_What year is it?_

__“2014.”

_Twenty years_

“Holy shit.” John felt his heart break for the poor spirit. He couldn’t imagine being trapped in a boring flat for twenty years.

_I don’t need your pity Dr. Watson_

John’s eyes widened, as he read those words.

_Oh, don’t be so surprised. I’m very observant._

“Fair enough. Why do you keep destroying the flat?”

_You moved my equipment._

“Your equipment? You mean, all this stuff here was yours?”

_Yes. Mrs. Hudson promised she would keep it for me. You moved it._

“Sorry. I can set it back up for you if you want.”

_That would be good. Thank you._

John went about setting up the lab, feeling slightly awkward knowing Sherlock was just there, watching him work. The ghost kept writing out instructions about how he wanted everything laid out.

“Wait, you are a guy, right? I don’t want to assume anything.”

_Yes John, I am a guy. Now please plug everything in._

“Alright, bossy. I’m guessing you were a top.”

_What?_

John flushed when he realized he had said that out loud. He plugged in the collection of cords, waving off the comment. The equipment roared to life and John grinned, dusting off his hands and turning towards the fridge.

He yelped and scrambled back when a man flickered into view in front of the fridge.

“Ah, much better!” The young man grinned, dusting off his shoulders and stretching his long, thin frame. He was tall, too thin, and unnaturally pale. His cheekbones were sharp and high-set, making him look less than human. He was gorgeous and John couldn’t help feeling a little self-conscious.

“Y-You- how- what the-”

“The flow of electricity gives me the strength to manifest physically. Now, shut your jaw, you’ll let the flies in.” Sherlock winked and sauntered around the table to stand in front of John, a smug expression on his lips as he leaned down, a brush of frigid air freezing John’s ear and making him gasp. “And for the record, I was more of a bottom.” John blushed and stuttered as Sherlock walked away, running long fingers over the equipment.

John had a feeling this was going to be interesting.

 

Sherlock turned out to be an interesting flatmate, conducting crazy experiments and whining about being bored. John began to wonder what happened to his curious flatmate. He did lots of research on ghosts and quickly came up with a plan.

“Sherlock?”

“Yes John?”

“Would you like to go out with me?” The ghost froze, glancing at John with a skeptical look.

“I’m a ghost John. I’m bound to the flat, I can’t just ‘go out’ like a normal human.”

“I had an idea about that actually. You need electricity to manifest, right? What about a laptop plugged into a socket?”

“That might work if we could get me out of here.”

“Well, were you buried or cremated?”

“Cremated, what wasn’t donated to science, that is.”

“Alright, so according to the info I found online if you don’t have a body to return to, then you must be bound to something else. One of your old possessions perhaps? Something you would have been really attached to.” Sherlock turned to face John, his eyes filled with curiosity.

“Under the bed. There is a small leather case. If I am bound to anything, it would be that.” John nodded and scurried off to try to find the little case. When he found it, he unzipped it, gasping at the contents.

It was a set of needles and a small vile of heroin.

“Seven percent.” Sherlock’s voice came from the doorway, causing John to jump. “That was my solution. Just enough to stop my mind, but not enough to do any major physical damage.” A weight fell over John’s heart as he watched Sherlock rub at his forearm.

“You killed yourself.” He whispered, standing and stepping closer to his ghostly friend. Sherlock blinked rapidly and nodded slightly.

“I just wanted everything to stop. You have no idea what it is like living with a mind like mine, telling you every dirty little thing it picks up about whoever crossed my path. So, I stopped it.” John wanted nothing more than to hold the young man.

“Let’s go get coffee.” He whispered instead, smirking up at the ghost before passing right through him and running down the hall, ducking and laughing as Sherlock sent books flying at him.

 

 

They spent their afternoons at a small coffee house, giggling and deducing things about the other people in the shop.

As time went on, John found himself falling further and further in love with the strange Sherlock Holmes. He started doing research, hoping to find something that could help him be with Sherlock.

“What if we summon Death?” He asked one day, the question falling from his lips before he could stop it.

“Why would we summon Death?”

“Maybe he could make you human again.” Sherlock hesitated, a sad sort of frown pulling at his brows.

“John, I-”

“Please, Sherlock. I know it didn’t go so well the last time, but that was twenty years ago. And now you have me.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you, and I want to be with you, and that is really hard to do when I just pass right through you every time I try to touch you.” They never talked about their relationship, just kind of accepting the emotions that were there between them.

“John-”

“No, please Sherlock. Let me do this. Let me try to bring you back. Please.” Sherlock looked terrified, uncertain as to how to respond. “I won’t let you do that to yourself again Love, promise.” The pale ghost worried at his bottom lip for a moment before looking up at John, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Let’s summon Death.” John grinned, he was going to find a way to be with his Ghost.


	2. We Will Figure This Out

“So.” Sherlock drew out the word, stretching it long enough to make it uncomfortable.

“So?”

“We are going to summon Death?”

“Yep.”

“How do you propose we do that?”

“I have no idea.” They giggled, John hiding behind his hand to avoid drawing unwanted attention. “Jesus. Are we mad?”

“No. But we are in love apparently, and I have heard that love is madness.” John grinned, knowing he probably looked like a fool. Sherlock was smirking, and John knew that if he wasn’t a ghost, the man probably would be blushing like a teenager.

“So, you love me too?” Sherlock stared at him as though he were mad.

“I agreed to let you summon Death so you can try to bring me back into a life that I deliberately removed myself from. Why would I do that for anything else but love?” John felt his cheeks burn, knowing that was the closest thing to a complement he would ever get from Sherlock Holmes.

“Let’s get home Love. We have some research to do.”

 

 

Over the next few weeks, John spent almost all his free time researching. Sherlock was really no help at home, but occasionally John would take him to the library and he would read through some old books while John would browse the internet. He liked spending time with the man, Sherlock was brilliant and incredibly gifted at reading people. When he would get bored, which was pretty much a guarantee while they were out, he would lean in close and whisper his deductions to John. It was amusing but incredibly distracting.

“That gentlemen in the corner ran out of hair gel this morning, so instead he used-”

“God, please don’t say something gross, like his cum or something.”

“Oh, I was going to say French Fry grease. I think I like your idea better.” John giggled, wincing as the surrounding people shushed him. “Stop that. You’re going to get us kicked out.” He scolded, the harshness of his tone dampened considerably by the grin on his lips.

“But John-” He shot a glare at the student that shushed him. “I like making you smile.” John blushed and focused on his laptop, trying to ignore the smug grin Sherlock was pointing at him.

“Just, keep reading. We’ve got to be getting close to figuring this out.”  John ignored the crushing fear that gripped his chest. It had been three weeks since they started looking, and they hadn’t found anything.

John was beginning to fear that Sherlock had given up.

“John-”

“No. Don’t. Please Sherlock. We will figure this out Love. I promise.” Sherlock pursed his lips, turning his attention back to the book in front of him. “What’s your power level at?” They could only stay out for about three hours at a time before Sherlock’s power faded, the simple circuit of electricity unable to sustain him for too long.

“Low.” John nodded, closing his notebook and getting ready to power down his computer.

“Alright Love. Let’s get you home.” Sherlock nodded and let himself flicker away.

 

 

“John?” Sherlock’s soft voice pulled John from his dreams. He forced his eyes open to see Sherlock standing by the edge of the bed, shuffling his feet as though he were nervous.

“Hey Love. What’s wrong?” He pushed himself up on his elbows and rubbed at his eyes, a yawn pulling itself from his chest.

“I-I miss you.” John smiled softly at the ghost, feeling his heart swell at the sentiment.

“I miss you too Love, but I’m right here.”

“I-I know.” Sherlock glared at the floor, chewing at his bottom lip and bouncing on his toes. He looked so young, and it made John want to take him in his arms and comfort him. “C-Can I- can I try something?”

“Of course Love.” Sherlock nodded and flickered out of sight, reappearing on the other side of the bed. He furrowed his brow and motioned with his hand, using his ability to manipulate objects to move the blankets. He adjusted them so they were lying flat and even on the bed, the only disturbance being John’s body lying beneath them.

Then he climbed onto the bed beside John.

The action shouldn’t have shocked John, but he gasped nonetheless. He had seen Sherlock sitting in chairs and other furniture before, but something about this was different, more amazing.

John adjusted so he was lying on his side, facing his ghost. Sherlock’s eyes were wide and curious as he followed suit, lying so he was facing John. They weren’t touching, but John could feel the gentle spark of power flickering off the other man.

“I-Is this alright?” John smiled at the question, resting his hand in the empty space between them.

“Better than, Love.” He whispered, enjoying the grin that Sherlock gave him. Sherlock glanced at his hand and his brow furrowed again. Sherlock’s hand rose to hover just above John’s, sending a strange chill along John’s spine.

Then Sherlock lowered his hand. John was expecting the usual flash of cold and burst of static electricity at the touch. He braced himself for the sadness that always accompanied being unable to touch Sherlock.

He gasped as he felt a cold weight settle against his hand.

Sherlock was touching him. Sending sparks of cold electricity dancing along his entire body and causing him to gasp.

“Sherlock-”

“I’ve been practicing.” He grinned, tears pricking at the backs of his eyes. He was finally touching Sherlock Holmes.

“God, how much power is that using?”

“A lot. I can’t sustain it for too long. I just wanted to see if it would work.” Sherlock pulled his hand away, and John fought back the flash of disappointment that followed. Sherlock shifted closer, leaving only inches between them, the man and the ghost.

Then he closed the gap.

When their lips met, John pulled away almost immediately.

“Sorry. Not good?” Sherlock asked, sounding sheepish and slightly hurt. John shook his head, smiling at the pale man next to him.

“No, it was very good. Just, overwhelming.” It had felt as though his entire body had been struck by an icy bolt of lightening, shocking through him and burning through to his very core. “I don’t want to wear you out.”

“You won’t. I have enough power for another kiss. I-If you want.” John nodded, leaning forward and pressing his lips against Sherlock’s once more. He whimpered against the sensation, pulling back after a few seconds. He was breathless and lightheaded, but happier than he had felt in a long while. “Go to sleep John.” Sherlock whispered.

“Goodnight Sherlock.”

“Goodnight My Love.” John closed his eyes and felt his mind start to drift.

For the first time in years, John suffered no nightmares.


	3. Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING!! This chapter talks about suicide attempts!!

“Sherlock.”

“Yes John?”

“Please let me out.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Sherlock’s tone was dripping with feigned innocence as he appeared beside John, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’m not doing anything My Love, it would appear that the front door has stopped working again. You will just have to stay with me.”

“Sherlock.”

“Yes John?”

“I’m supposed to be meeting Greg in ten minutes.”

“You’ll just have to call and cancel.”

“Sherlock.”

“Fine.” The door finally swung open, Sherlock finally releasing it. He had started practicing with his abilities, which usually meant locking John in various rooms and preventing him from leaving. “I don’t know why you have to go see this friend. Am I boring you already?” John sighed, stepping close to Sherlock and offering him an understanding smile.

“Of course not Love, I could never get bored of you. I’ve already cancelled on Greg twice now, I feel bad.”

“This is exactly why I think friends are boring and tedious.”

“I’ll miss you too Love.” Sherlock smiled and leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to John’s lips. “I’ll be back soon.” He left before the pale man could lock him in again.

 

 

“So, explain something to me.” John groaned and rolled his eyes, slamming his head against the table. He had made the mistake of telling Greg about his relationship with Sherlock. Unsurprisingly, the man hadn’t taken it very well, and was now demanding details. “You are dating a ghost?”

“No, I’m dating-”

“How does that work? I mean, you can’t touch or anything, right?” John tried to fight the blush that rose on his cheeks, realizing how miserably he failed when Greg’s eyes widened. “You can touch? How?”

“Well-”

“What’s it like? Getting off with a ghost?”

“God, no! It’s not like that! We haven’t- I-I mean, we aren’t- I-I don’t think we can- I’m not discussing our sex life with you.”

“Oh no buddy, you are the one dating Casper the Friendly Ghost, you don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t ask.” John scowled at his friend and finished off the last of his beer, checking his watch and grabbing his phone. “I want to meet your new lover.”

“Don’t you have a date with that politician? What’s his name again?”

“Mycroft. And no, he cancelled again.”

“Disappointed?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Really? You want to know everything about my sex life, but I’m not allowed to know if you like some random politician? That’s hardly fair.”

“Yeah? Well I’m not the one getting boned by fucking Skeletor.”

“Fuck off.” John sighed heavily, glancing helplessly at his phone, wishing he had an excuse to tell Greg no. “Fine, but you can’t stay for long. I have to be at Bart’s early tomorrow.” Greg grinned and quickly finished his drink, dropping a few notes on the table before hurrying to follow John.

 

 

John pushed open the door to the flat, his stomach in knots. He glanced around, not seeing Sherlock anywhere. He was about to call out when the air filled with static electricity. He turned to see Sherlock flicker into view beside him. His ghostly lover grabbed his waist and pulled him close, leaning down and capturing his lips in a kiss.

His skin tingled with electricity and he started to shake as Sherlock let him go.

The pale man was grinning wildly, his eyes glinting with mischief. It had been a week since they had first kissed and Sherlock enjoyed surprising John with the touches.

“Hey.”

“Jesus Love, I thought we agreed you would give me a bit of warning before you did that?” John laughed, breathless. Sherlock’s ever flowing energy had a strange effect on his lungs.

“We did, but I enjoy surprising you.” John laughed again, forgetting for a moment that Greg was standing behind him. He jumped when he felt a solid, warm hand land on his shoulder.

“Shit, right. Sorry, uh, c-come on in Greg.” He stepped around Sherlock, letting his friend into the flat. “Sherlock, this is Greg. Greg, this is-”

“Sherlock Holmes?” John spun to face his friend, shock filling his body. He hadn’t told Greg Sherlock’s full name.

“Gavin?” He spun back to face Sherlock, his head spinning.

“For fucks sake. It’s Greg you clot.”

“Right, George, sorry.”

“Wait, you two know each other?” John was getting dizzy from looking between the two men.

“Apparently.” Sherlock looked almost as confused as John felt. 

“What the hell man? You- you’re dead?” John watched as his friend tugged at his hair, stepping closer to Sherlock as his face fell. “W-When did it happen? Does Mycroft know?”

“Surely after all these years he has figured it out.”

“What the hell are you talking about Sherlock? You’ve only been in the coma for a year.” Sherlock stepped back, looking terrified and uncertain. John shook his head, blinking rapidly a few times. He tried to speak, but there were no words.

“N-No. I-I’m dead. I died twenty years ago.” Sherlock started to flicker, unable to control his form under the weight of the news.

“No, I swear it. Last year you OD’d on heroin and tried to throw yourself off the roof of Bart’s. I just went to see your body last week.” John felt his heart drop, and had to back up to prevent hurting himself. He fell onto the sofa, his chest tight and heart beat far too high.

Sherlock’s body was still alive.

“Show us.”

 

 

Less than an hour later, they were standing in a private hospital room, crowded around the bed.

John couldn’t breathe. It was true.

Sherlock’s lifeless body lay before him. Pale, too thin, and peaceful.

“N-No.” Sherlock shook his head, flickering intensely as he stared at the lifeless body in the bed. “N-No, I-I died. I-I’ve been dead for years.”

“Love, this is a good thing-”

“How is this good John? I should be dead!”

“But you aren’t, we can bring you back-”

“No!” As the pale man shouted, a blast of electrical energy shot out from him, sending John flying back into the wall. His head connected violently with a small glass window, his vision blurring white.

As his mind drifted into unconsciousness, he heard the rapid beeping of heart monitors screaming for assistance.


	4. More Harm Than Good

John hadn’t seen Sherlock in a week.

He knew that the ghost wasn’t gone, he felt the tell-tale signs of static electricity whenever he tried talking to his friend, but Sherlock wasn’t showing himself. John was miserable without his ghost. At first, he had been concerned that the shock his body had received had somehow disrupted his energy. When Sherlock had blasted the hospital room with his energy, his body had gone into cardiac arrest. The doctors had been able to revive him, but it was a close call. John had suffered a minor concussion from hitting the glass, but it wasn’t serious.

“He really hasn’t talked to you since the hospital?” Greg asked, waving at the waitress and ordering two more beers. John had asked Greg if he wanted to meet for a pint, unable to take the quiet of the flat any longer.

“Yeah, I don’t know what to do. I want to help him, but I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Maybe his little outburst drained his power?”

“No, I can feel him manipulating the energy in the flat, so he has power. He’s just ignoring me.” John sipped the cold beer that had been placed in front of him, determined to not leave the pub until he was too drunk to miss Sherlock. “I miss him Greg.” John’s friend looked at his own beer awkwardly, still not fully sure how to handle John and Sherlock’s relationship.

“Have you told him that?”

“Of course. He isn’t listening.”

“I could ask Mycroft if there is any way to pull Sherlock out of a funk. I remember there being a few times when he would go off the deep end like this. Myc was always able to talk him down.”

“Sure, and what exactly are you going to tell him? ‘Hey Babe, so you know how your little brother is in a coma? Well his spirit is living with and dating my best friend John, but is currently mad at him for some unknown reason. What do you think he should do?’” John sighed heavily and slammed his head against the counter. “I just have to find the right spell to bring him back. Then he’ll have to talk to me.” John tried to stand, but promptly fell over as the alcohol hit him full force. Greg jumped to his aid, pulling him to his feet and propping him up against the bar.

“Alright, time to get you home.” He paid the bill and wrapped John’s arm around his neck, grabbing the shorter man’s waist and hauling him from the bar. It was too late to catch a cab and they weren’t far from John’s flat, so Greg slowly led John down the sidewalk, trying to keep him from stumbling.

They reached his flat and Greg unceremoniously dropped John to the pavement, ringing the bell for the landlady’s flat. Mrs. Hudson answered, looking concerned when she saw John’s unconscious form on the ground.

“Oh dear.”

“Yeah, could you do me a huge favour? Go grab Sherlock’s little case and bring it here?” She nodded and scurried off, returning a few minutes later with the small pouch. Greg stuffed it in his pocket and crossed his arms. “Alright Sherlock, I know you’re mad at John, but I kind of need a hand here. Just help me get him upstairs then you can go back to pouting.” He felt the hair at the back of his neck stand on end. “Come on, I know you’re there. Either you help me, or I leave John out here.”

“Some friend you are.” Greg jumped as he heard Sherlock’s voice coming from behind him. “Threatening to leave an unconscious man on the sidewalk just because you are too lazy to haul him upstairs yourself.” Sherlock looked pissed, but Greg brushed it off.

“Yeah, well I wouldn’t have to haul him home tonight if you weren’t pouting.”

“How is this my fault?”

“He wouldn’t have gotten smashed if you weren’t mad at him. Now, grab an arm.” Sherlock blinked at Greg, not moving. “Come on, I know you can grab things.”

“I’m not mad at him.”

“Great! Now help before I drop him.” Sherlock stepped forward, taking John’s other arm and slinging it over his shoulder. Greg had to shake his head to clear away the awe at seeing a ghost helping to carry a drunk man up a flight of stairs. “So, if you aren’t mad at him, why aren’t you talking to him?”

“I don’t want to hurt him again.” Greg sighed, pushing open the flat door and leading them inside, dropping John on the sofa.

“Hurt him how?”

“I threw him against a wall Gavin. His head was bleeding.”

“You were upset. It was an accident.”

“You’re a cop, tell me that doesn’t sound like a domestic abuse story.”

“Sherlock, you’re a ghost. Nothing about your situation sounds like a domestic abuse story.” The pale man huffed, flickering out of sight before reappearing by the kitchen door, far away from John. “Listen, take it from the guy that just had to spend the night listening to him talk about you, this is killing him. He didn’t mention you throwing him against the wall once. You know what he did talk about? How much he misses you.” Sherlock looked at John, pain filling his eyes. “I’ve got to get home, you think you can get him to bed in one piece?” He didn’t bother giving Sherlock the chance to object, tossing the case on John’s chest before leaving. He paused at the door, not turning, but speaking loud enough for the ghost to hear. “Talk to him. I promise, your ignoring him is doing more harm than good.”

 

Sherlock watched John sleeping on the sofa, pondering Gavin’s words. He feared hurting John again. He allowed himself to flicker closer to his sleeping lover, standing just past arms length away. John yawned and stretched, making a soft dinosaur-like noise as he did. Sherlock smiled, feeling affection growing at the action. He loved watching John sleep.

“I’m sorry John.” He whispered to the unconscious man, drawing forth every ounce of power he could to solidify his body. He reached down and lifted John into his arms, carrying him down the hall to his room. John whimpered and squirmed, the intensity of Sherlock’s energy no doubt uncomfortable for him.

“Sherlock?” John’s eyes blinked open, fighting to focus on Sherlocks own.

“Hush now My Love. Go back to sleep.” He whispered, lowering the drunk man to the mattress and making to leave.

“No!” John latched onto Sherlock’s arm, keeping him close. “Please don’t leave again. Please. I miss you.”

“John-”

“No, please. I’m sorry for whatever I did. Just please don’t leave me. I love you, please stay.” Sherlock felt his heart break at the pleading tone in his lover’s voice. John swung his legs off the bed, blinking and shaking his head before grabbing Sherlock’s hips and pulling him close. Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled forward, coming to stand between John’s knees.

“I’m sorry John.” He whispered, tracing his fingers along the shorter man’s jawline. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“I hurt you.” John giggled, resting his head against Sherlock’s chest. “Why are you laughing? It’s not funny John. I could have killed you.”

“Sorry, I just had a thought.”

“What thought?”

“I should buy you a tiara.” Sherlock blinked in confusion, causing John to giggle some more. “I think you would look cute with a sparkly tiara sitting on those curls.” Sherlock blushed, unsure how to respond. “Not that I don’t think you look cute anyways, in fact, I think you’re fucking gorgeous.”

“Alright, you need to go to sleep.”

“Will you stay?”

“I don’t-”

“Please? I can’t sleep without you.” John’s eyes were wide and glassy, and Sherlock felt his resolve crumble. He nodded, feeling his heart go weightless at the happy grin John shot him. “Kiss first.” John demanded, and Sherlock obeyed, unable to stop his own grin at the pleased sound John made when their lips met.

He got John tucked into bed and lay down beside him, watching his lover as his sleepy body took over. John yawned and stretched, making another soft dinosaur noise as he did.

“Good night John.”

“Good night Sherlock. I love you.” John was asleep almost as soon as he finished his statement.

“I love you too John.”


	5. If You Feel Like Talking

John’s head was spinning as he pushed himself out of bed.

He felt the nausea rising in his throat and was prepared to race for the bathroom when his foot knocked against an empty bucket. He didn’t have time to question how it got there before his body started to expel the leftover alcohol in his system.

Once his body stopped emptying itself, he stood on shaky legs and stumbled to the bathroom, emptying the bucket into the toilet and rinsing it out. He brushed his teeth, avoiding his reflection in the mirror. He must look like shit.

His last memory from the night before was of Greg dragging him home.

Once he felt slightly more human, he made his way into the kitchen, trying to remember where he put the aspirin.

There were two pills and a glass of water on the table next to a note. He picked up the note as he took the pills.

_Figured you would need these. Call for me when you wake up if you feel like talking_

_P.S. I love you – SH_

“So, you’re talking to me again?” John grumbled, tossing the note down on the table and turning to put the kettle on. “Alright then. You feel like talking? Come out and talk.” He felt a surge of static electricity and knew without having to turn that Sherlock had flickered into view. He fought the urge to turn and look at the man, knowing that if he did, he would not be able to stay mad at him.

“You’re mad.”

“Yep.”

“I’m so sorry John.” He couldn’t stop himself then, spinning around to face the ghost. The world spun with him and he stumbled, catching himself on the counter before he could fall. Sherlock was standing in the doorway, his arms wrapped around his waist and his head bowed. He looked miserable.

“Sorry? You ignore me for a fucking week and all you have to say is sorry?” John stepped closer to the man, feeling his heart break ever so slightly when the ghost stepped back, keeping an even distance between them.

“J-John I-”

“Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? How much I’ve missed you? I thought-” John choked on his words, blinking back tears. “I thought you’d left me. I thought you’d changed your mind.” Sherlock looked up at John, chewing on his lip and shaking his head.

“God, John no. I-I didn’t mean-”

“I thought you didn’t love me anymore.” John whispered, feeling the weight of the past week falling heavy on his shoulders as he dropped his head in his hands, the tears falling freely. He felt his body tingle with electrical energy as Sherlock flickered closer, wrapping his arms around John’s shaking form and pulling him close.

“No. God no John. Of course I still love you. I’m so sorry.” Sherlock leaned back, taking John’s face in his hands and pressing soft kisses over his lips and cheeks. “I thought I was protecting you, keeping you safe from me.”

“W-What?”

“I hurt you John. I hurt you and I couldn’t stop it.” John felt his chest tighten and he shook his head, smiling. “What’s so funny? I could have killed you John.”

“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?” He whispered, placing his hands on Sherlock’s hips and pulling him close. “It was an accident Love. You didn’t do it on purpose. You saw your body and you freaked out, that’s all.” He pushed himself up on his toes, kissing Sherlock deeply, whimpering at the force of power that surged through his veins at the intimate touch.

“J-John-”

“If you ever leave me like that again, I’ll kill you myself.” Sherlock chuckled, his smile filling John’s heart with light for the first time in weeks. “Now, I know the spell to bring you back, since your body is still alive. But only if you really want to, I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything.” Sherlock leaned down and kissed the shorter man, a deep, passionate kiss that left John’s toes curling against the cold tiles.

“God yes John. I want to touch you, for real.” John gasped as Sherlock shoved him back against the counter, pressing close and biting on his bottom lip gently. John’s entire frame was wracked with shocks of static electricity. He could feel his lungs tightening and his pulse racing. “I want to feel you John. To feel you inside me.” John shut his eyes tight, clinging to Sherlock’s frame.

Something wasn’t right. John couldn’t seem to breathe and his vision was starting to blur.

“Sh-Sherlock-”

“John? What’s wrong?”

“Sher-” He felt his knees give out and would have hit the ground if Sherlock hadn’t caught him. He felt Sherlock lift him off his feet and carry him to the sofa, his world spinning as he fought to breathe.

“John? John! What’s wrong? Please talk to me.”

“Sher-” His world faded to black as he heard Sherlock shouting for Mrs. Hudson to phone an ambulance.


	6. How Do I Fix This

Mrs. Hudson helped to smuggle Sherlock into the hospital.

He waited by John’s bedside, sitting in the chair, invisible to the staff that came to check on the unconscious man in the bed.

“Sherlock?” George had come to visit. Sherlock allowed himself to flicker into view, startling the other man. “Hey Mate. How’s he doing?”

“His heart- it- it stopped.” Gavin cursed, running his hands through his hair and pacing in the small space.

“How- what- what happened? Do the doctors know?”

“They have no idea. Idiots the lot of them.” Geoff spun to face him, pointing at him.

“You know what happened, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“What was it then? Why did his heart stop Sherlock?” Sherlock flinched as the other man’s voice took on a harsh tone.

“It was me.” He whispered, flickering in and out of view as he struggled against the emotions. “I did this. I- I killed John.” Gavin dropped his hands to his sides, looking lost and confused. “I was holding him and kissing him and his heart stopped.” Greg stepped around the bed, standing in front of Sherlock.

“Hey, hey mate listen, you need to calm down.”

“How can I calm down Geoff? I’ve just killed the only man I’ve ever loved!”

“You didn’t kill him Sherlock, but you’re going to if you don’t calm down!” Sherlock froze, taking stock of the room. The lights were flickering and John’s heart rate monitor was starting to beep loudly. His energy was disrupting the machines that were keeping John breathing. He backed away, stumbling back against the wall, his body almost slipping through. He solidified just enough to lean against the wall, sliding down and dropping his head back against the wall.

“God, Greg. What have I done?” The other man came closer, sitting on the floor beside Sherlock and rubbing his hands over his thighs and sighing heavily. “How can I fix this?” Gavin was quiet for a long while, the silence of the room only broken by the machines keeping John alive.

“You don’t.” Geoff pushed himself to his feet, reaching down and offering his hand to Sherlock. “I do.” Sherlock solidified his hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. 

“I-I don’t understand.”

“I’m going to bring your sorry ass back.”

 

“God this is weird.” Greg laughed as he placed his bag on Sherlock’s bed, glancing between the unconscious form on the bed and the ghost beside him. He had been out and about, gathering supplies and preparing. His phone went off, signaling the arrival of his boyfriend, Sherlock’s older brother.

I’m here – MH

Good. Come up to Sherlock’s room – GL

You have everything, right? – GL

Yes – MH

What exactly do you need this stuff for? – MH

I’ll explain when you get up here – GL

Greg stuffed his phone back into his pocket and continued sorting through the various herbs and items he had collected.

“Is my brother really coming?” Sherlock asked, sounding uncertain.

“Yep. He’ll be here any minute.”

“God, he must be so mad at me.” Greg turned to the ghost, not missing the fear that filled Sherlock’s eyes. “I tried to kill myself. The first time I did that-”

“I damned near beat you to a pulp if I remember correctly.” Greg and Sherlock both jumped at the new voice. Mycroft stood in the door, a smug smirk on his face as he glanced between Sherlock and his body.

“Mycroft-”

“Alright, soppy hellos later eh? We have a spell to cast.” Greg grabbed the bag from Mycroft’s hand, pressing a soft kiss to his lover’s cheek before spinning back to the bed. He hurriedly started mixing ingredient’s praying that the spell would work.

“How long have you been like this, Brother Mine?” Mycroft asked, crossing is arms and glaring at Sherlock.

“I’m not really sure. I was positive I had died more than twenty years ago until Gavin told us otherwise.”

“An idiot even in death I see.”

“Sod off.”

“Boys, not now please.” Greg snapped, adding the last ingredient to the bowl before turning to Sherlock. “This is it. Now, lie down within your body. If everything works, the spell will bind your spirit to your physical form. Since there is no medical reason for your body to still be in a coma, I’m hoping the reunion of spirit and flesh will wake you up.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Greg hesitated, he had been trying to avoid that question.  Sherlock nodded, stepping close to the bed and climbing on, lying down so he disappeared into his physical body. “If I don’t wake up, tell John I love him.” Greg nodded, blinking away the tears as his friend’s spirit faded away.

“Here we go.” He whispered, picking up the sterling silver blade he was to use for the ritual. “Watch the door. Warn me if someone is coming.” He inhaled and drew the blade over his skin, wincing as the blade cut him. He let the blood drain from his hands, chanting a few words in Latin as he soaked the herbs in his blood. He then moved closer to Sherlock’s body and lifted his hand, slicing the palm and letting the blood flow and mingle with his own and the herbs. Once there was enough, he wrapped Sherlock’s hand tightly and set the bowl on his chest.

He pulled out a match and struck it, dropping it into the bowl.

All logic told him that the flame would go out as soon as it touched the blood, but that didn’t happen. Instead there was a huge puff of smoke and a flash of light.

“Is that it?” Mycroft asked.

“No. There’s one more step.” He grabbed the bowl and poured the smouldering ashes over the unconscious form, chanting in Latin all the while.

He lit another match and dropped it to Sherlock’s chest.

“Greg!” Mycroft shouted as the ashes burst into flame, quickly covering Sherlock’s body in a layer of green flame. As quickly as they appeared, they were gone. Leaving the room to be filled with a thick silence.

The angry peal of heart monitors filled the room as Sherlock’s body began to convulse.


	7. Wake Up

Sherlock ran through the familiar halls of his mind palace, throwing open doors and calling for John. He had to find a way out. He ground to a stop just in time to watch the floor before him crumble away.

His body was dying, his mind palace slipping away with it.

He turned and raced up an old flight of stairs, trying to ignore the creeping realization that made itself known in the back of his mind.

He knew this place.

This was where he killed himself.

He stumbled upon an old, rusted door. Memories of his death starting to flood back. He had locked himself in the darkest corner of his mind palace to avoid the pain. He took a deep breath and grabbed the handle, forcing the door open. He was greeted with a morbid sight.

Sprawled out on the mouldy floor was his consciousness, pale and thin, obviously strung out on too many drugs. The sickly frame was shivering and muttering uselessly. He knelt beside the body, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude that John hadn’t met him when he was like this.

“Wake up.” The body didn’t respond, still muttering nonsense. “Wake up!” He shouted, shaking the man on the floor. “Please! You have to wake up!” Pale eyes opened to meet his own.

“W-Who are you?”

“I’m you. Well, the part of you that lived.”

“Did I die?”

“Almost.”

“Damn. I’ll just have to try harder next time.” Sherlock helped his double to his feet, supporting the weak man.

“No, you don’t understand, you have to fight.”

“Why should I? No one misses me, no one will miss me.”

“You’re wrong. John will miss you.”

“I don’t know anyone named John.”

“Yes, you do. You know him and you love him.”

“Ooh, unrequited love. What a perfect thing to want to return to.” Dying Sherlock shoved him away, stumbling through the door and making his way down the long corridor. “Thanks, but no. I’m not strong enough to deal with another person hating me.”

  
“It’s not unrequited, John loves you too.” Dying Sherlock turned back to face him, his brow crinkled in confusion.

“Not possible. No one loves me.”

“John does. And he is waiting for you to wake up.” Sherlock stepped closer to the dying man, clenching his fists. “You have to wake up.”

“No.” Sherlock’s vision turned red as the palace crumbled around them. He swung, catching his double in the chin, sending him flying.

As he struck the wall, the castle shook violently and Sherlock could hear the distant beep of a heart monitor. He grabbed the sick man again and slammed him harshly against the wall.

“John needs you!” He shouted, punching Dying Sherlock again, once more hearing the distant wail of monitors. “For fucks sake! Fight! John Watson needs you!” The castle started crumbling faster, the walls disappearing around them. “Please. You think it was lonely before, you have no idea how much it hurts knowing that you failed John Watson.” He whispered, knowing it was too late. His body had died. He could feel himself fading away. “I’m so sorry John.”

“You’re sure this man loves us?” Sherlock nodded, dropping to his knees and heaving a great sob, clutching his stomach and rocking to try to ease his way into death.

The world faded away, and just as his last thought echoed through the air, Sherlock felt the insistent throbbing of something beating the walls of his mind palace.

_John!_

 

 

Greg stood over the lifeless form in front of him, trying desperately to figure out what happened.

Sherlock’s body had gone into shock, his internal organs failing and his brain shutting down. The doctors had tried to revive him, but to no avail.

Sherlock Holmes was dead.

Greg listened as the doctors call his time of death, wheeling their crash carts from the room and trying to get Mycroft’s attention.

He had failed, and now Sherlock was dead and John was alone.

“Mycroft, God, I’m sorry.” His voice cracked as his boyfriend turned to grab him in a tight embrace, sobbing into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.” Tears were slipping down his cheeks as he held the grieving man.

_Beep!_

Greg ignored the sound at first, it was just the machines reminding them of the dead man they were still attached to.

_Beep!_

This time, Greg looked up, not missing the flash of green on the heart monitor next to Sherlock’s head.

_Beep! Beep!_

“Oh God.” Greg whispered, pushing Mycroft off and stepping closer to the body on the bed.

“Greg?” Mycroft’s broken voice came from behind him.

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

Pale eyes met Greg’s as his heart hit the floor. He stumbled back, fighting for breath.

“Doctor! Nurse! Somebody, help!” He cried as the once dead body started fighting for air.

Sherlock Holmes was alive.


	8. The Mysterious John Watson

John woke up to find Greg sitting in the chair next to his bed.

“Hey Mate! How’re you feeling?” John blinked against the harsh hospital lighting, pushing himself into a sitting position.

“G-Greg? W-What happened?”

“What do you remember?” John rubbed at his eyes, wincing as the I.V. in his hand pulled uncomfortably.

“I-I woke up, Sherlock wanted to talk. We were- oh God, Greg, where is he?” Greg stood, coming closer and placing a hand on John’s shoulder. “God, he must feel so terrible. This wasn’t his fault, I was already hungover- where is he Greg?”

“John-”

“He has to know this isn’t his fault, right? Sherlock? Are you here Love?”

“John!” Greg shook John’s shoulder gently, pulling his attention to his friend. “John, you need to calm down. Your heart can’t take too much stress right now.”

“M-My heart?”

“Yeah Mate, your heart stopped. You’ve been out for almost a week.” John felt his chest tighten. He shook his head, breathing in shakily and feeling an uncomfortable weight on his lungs.

“W-Where’s Sherlock? I-I need to talk to him.”

“He’s not here.” John felt the panic rise in his chest again.

“Where is he?” Greg looked away, shifting uncomfortably. “Greg? What happened? Where’s Sherlock?”

“Don’t be mad John.”

“Oh God, what did you do?”

“I cast a spell to bind flesh and spirit. He’s upstairs in the private wing.” John felt the crushing panic start to grow when Greg’s face didn’t light up. “John, he-”

“No. Please tell me he isn’t-”

“No! No, he lived. In fact, he’s awake.”

“Then what’s wrong?” Greg looked at John with something akin to pity, and John tried desperately to blink away the tears. There was only one other thing that could have gone wrong in the process and John prayed that wasn’t what happened.

“John, he doesn’t remember you.”

 

 

Sherlock threw the tray of food after the orderly, shouting obscenities after the young man. He didn’t want to be here. He was supposed to be dead.

_“You chose this. You chose to live for John.”_ Sherlock groaned, dropping his head back against the pillows. Since waking up, a voice kept speaking up from the back of his mind, talking endlessly about some mysterious man named John Watson that he supposedly loved.

“Shut up!” He growled, pulling violently at his curls and cursing his weak state. In the last twenty-four hours, he had already attempted to finish what he started last time, but that nagging voice in his head kept pulling him away from the brink. “If this John Watson is so in love with me, then why isn’t he here?”

_“Because we almost killed him you idiot. He’s unconscious. And don’t talk out loud, people will think you’re mad.”_

“I shot up with enough heroin to kill a fucking horse, then threw myself off the roof of the hospital. They already think I’m mad.” Sherlock glared at the I.V. line in his hand, debating on how stupid it would be to rip them out and try to run for it.

_“You have been in a vegetative state for over a year. You would make it approximately-”_

“Oh, shut up. Were you always this annoying?”

_“Yep.”_ Sherlock jumped when he heard a soft knocking at the door, looking around for something to throw. The door swung open to reveal a young man, sitting in a wheelchair that was being pushed by Gavin. _“John! Oh my God! He’s awake! We didn’t kill him!”_ Sherlock winced as the voice in his head shouted at him. So, this was the mysterious John Watson.

“Who are you?”

_“What the fuck are you doing?”_

“Sherlock, this is John Watson, your-”

“Your new roommate.” The man in the wheelchair cut Geoff off, offering Sherlock a pained smile. “I moved into Baker Street a few months ago, hope that’s alright. I can move my stuff into the upstairs bedroom. Everything of yours is still there. Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t let me throw anything out.” Sherlock watched the young man in awe, not knowing how to process him.

_“John? What is happening? He should remember me?”_

_“Don’t be an idiot. Greg told him I have no memories of him so he is pretending to not know me so as not to overwhelm me.”_

“Yes, well, it’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Watson. There is no need for you to worry about moving your stuff, I have no intention of returning to the flat.” Sherlock watched as John’s face fell. The young man fidgeted uncomfortably and swiped his thumb over his nose.

_“You’re an idiot.”_

_“Shut up.”_

“Right, well I’ll see you at Baker Street then, Gorgeous.” John winked and smirked at Sherlock, pulling a flush along his neck and face, before wheeling his way out of the room.

_“And that is what it’s like to get chatted up by John Watson.”_

_“Shut up.”_

_“Admit it, he’s hot.”_

_“I’m not talking to you anymore.”_

“You alright Sherlock?” George asked, looking between Sherlock and the door uncomfortably.

He could do little else but nod weakly, swallowing around the lump that was quickly forming in his throat.


	9. This Is Who I Am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING!!! Talks of abuse and suicide attempts

Sherlock hated John Watson.

He hated how nice his new roommate was. He hated that John never mentioned what happened between them. He hated how attractive the older man was.

But mostly, Sherlock hated how much he wanted to be loved by John Watson.

The voice in his head kept it’s promise, never letting himself succeed in taking his life again. He hated the reasoning that it used.

_“You will hurt John. You promised him you wouldn’t hurt him again.”_

He hated that it worked.

Sherlock spent many days trying to rebuild his mind palace since moving back into Baker Street. He would sit on the sofa and stare endlessly at the walls, ignoring John’s pleas for him to eat or sleep.

One day, after nearly a month of being home, John came back from wherever it was he would disappear to and Sherlock decided he had had enough.

“Hey Sherlock, I was thinking maybe we could order pizza tonight? I know a great little place a few blocks from here-”

“How long?”

“Huh?”

“How long did you father beat you?” Sherlock heard the moment his words hit John. His bookbag fell heavily to the chair and the air in the flat turned thick.

_“What are you doing?”_

“How many nights did you spend, curled under your bed, praying he would forget you existed?” Sherlock’s heart was breaking with each harsh word he threw at his flatmate, but he kept going, wanting the young man to feel a fraction of the pain he felt.

_“Stop this!”_

“What are you doing?” John’s voice was tight and angry, trembling with repressed rage.

“How many nights does it keep you awake? The memories of his hands on you? Beating you? Touching you?”

“Please stop.”

_“You can’t do this to him! You’re hurting him!”_ Sherlock stood, standing in front of the shorter man, noticing the tears he was blinking away.

“Did he rape you too? Or did he save that for your little sister?”

“Fuck you.”

_“John no!”_ Sherlock grinned darkly, letting an empty laugh fill the space between them.

“Do you ever wonder if you will turn out like him? Beating your kids when you’ve had too much to drink?” John shook his head, pushing his way around Sherlock and heading for the kitchen. “Oh! That’s what your nightmares are about. You imagine yourself beating the person you love. Your little sister. Am I right?”

“Stop it! Why are you doing this? I’ve done nothing to you!”

“I thought this is what you wanted John? You wanted to be with me, so here I am! This is me! I hurt people and laugh at their pain.” He stepped closer to John and grabbed his elbow, spinning him around and throwing him violently against the door frame. The shorter man yelped as his head connected with the wood with a resounding thump. He pressed against John’s frame, bringing his lips to John’s ear and lowering his voice. “The Sherlock you loved, he isn’t real John. He’s just a voice in the back of my skull, crying at me about how much he loves you.” Sherlock pulled back to find John’s face soft with shock.

“S-Sherlock-”

“Your Sherlock Holmes is dead John. Time to move on.”

“No.” There was an edge to John’s voice that sent a chill down Sherlock’s spine.

“What?”

“I said, no.” Sherlock tried to walk away, but found himself held in place by John’s firm hands. Fear filled him as John pushed off the wall, spinning them around and pressing Sherlock against the unforgiving surface.

“S-Stop-”

“Not so fun when you’re the one being crowded, is it?” John growled, placing one of his hands against Sherlock’s chest and holding him in place. He was much stronger than Sherlock had anticipated. “I know you’re in there Sherlock, because if you weren’t, this asshole wouldn’t know how much I love you.”

_“John! I’m here!”_ Sherlock winced at the volume of the voice. John saw and a grin pulled at his lips.

“That’s him, isn’t it? He’s yelling at you, isn’t he? He can hear me.” John’s face lit up in a brilliant smile, and Sherlock’s stomach tied itself into knots. “Sherlock, you brilliant bastard! You’ve got to fight Love. Try and break out of there Babe. Show him your memories Love. Show him us.”

_“I will try My Love.”_ Sherlock felt an overwhelming pain behind his eyes and pushed his way out of John’s grip, stumbling to the bathroom and locking the door.

His entire being was on fire with pain as John pounded on the door behind him.

He had to stop it. He had to escape the pain.

He saw red as his fist went through the bathroom mirror.

He saw white as the sharp glass cut through the skin of his wrists.

_“No!”_


	10. This Is Not Who You Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING!!!! This chapter talks mostly about suicide

_“What the fuck are you doing?”_ Sherlock gasped as an image of himself blinked into view, glaring at his wrists. This was John’s Sherlock, the one he wanted back so desperately.

“What’s wrong? Can’t stop the blood flow?” He snapped, swaying as his vision blurred.

_“You’re going to-”_

“Oh, sod off with that shit! ‘You’re going to hurt John’. Of course I’m going to hurt John! That’s the idea, isn’t it? Everything I do leads to people I love getting hurt, it’s the only thing I’m good at!”

_“This isn’t you! This isn’t the Sherlock John fell in love with!”_ Sherlock rolled his eyes and slid down the wall.

“No, that Sherlock died when we were eighteen, didn’t he?” The ghost sighed heavily and mirrored Sherlock’s actions, sliding down the opposite wall. They sat quietly for a moment, remembering their days in Uni.

_“What happened to me? My last memory is really fuzzy.”_

“Do you remember Victor?” Sherlock’s ghost nodded, chewing on his lip. Victor was not a pleasant memory. “His father threatened us, made us promise to leave Vic if we wanted him to stay safe. Needless to say, we didn’t take it very well.”

_“I tried to kill myself.”_ Sherlock nodded, the pain in his wrists fading to numbness that quickly spread over his limbs. In the background, he could hear John still pounding on the door, but even that sound was starting to fade.

His ghost flickered away briefly before re-appearing in front of him.

_“It doesn’t have to be like this, you can be with John. Let him in. He is a med student, he can save us.”_

“I don’t want to hurt him.”

_“You will hurt him if you let yourself die in here. John loves you, we dated for nearly three months Sherlock, he knows how abrasive we can be. Let me show you.”_ The ghost knelt before him, reaching out and touching his cheek softly.

Sherlock’s body was lit with a cold fire, memories filling his mind painfully.

_“Jesus, are we mad?”_

_“So, we are going to summon Death?”_

_“No. But we are in love apparently, and I have heard that love is madness.”_

_“I like making you smile.”_

_“We will figure this out Love, I promise.”_

_He saw John’s smile, the love in his eyes making his chest tighten. He felt his pulse race as he remembered touching John, the strange surge of electricity whenever their skin met._

_He remembered their first kiss, the fear he had felt when he approached the bed, hoping he wouldn’t be turned away._

_He remembered John’s sleepy eyes, how rough his voice sounded when he was tired. How young he looked when his sleep was peaceful._

_“No, it was very good. Just, overwhelming.”_

_“I’ll miss you too Love.”_

_He remembered John’s breathless laugh when he would surprise him with a kiss._

_He remembered the fear when Gavin took them to the hospital, when he saw his body for the first time._

_He remembered the pain that surged through his body as he panicked upon seeing his body._

_He remembered the horror at watching John’s body fly across the room, connecting with the wall and the window behind him._

_He remembered the way his heart would break watching John, knowing that he could hurt the man he loved so easily. He could kill John so easily, yet the young man still wanted to be with him._

_He remembered the shame he felt when Geoff yelled at him for ignoring John._

_He remembered the joy he felt when he learned John still wanted to try saving him._

_The pain and fear when John collapsed._

_The helplessness at seeing John’s body attached to hospital equipment._

_The fear of never seeing John again as his own body died._

_“John!”_

Sherlock writhed weakly on the floor, the memories burning through his body.

“Sherlock?” John’s voice came from the other side of the door. “Sherlock, what’s going on? Let me in!” He whimpered and reached his hand for the door handle. His hand trembled violently, his wrists burning and pulsing as he fought with the lock.

His vision quickly faded to black as he collapsed against the floor, feeling the weight of unconsciousness taking over his joints.


	11. Lost

_“I know you’re in there Sherlock!”_

_“I’m here John!”_

_“You’ve got to fight Love!”_

_“John!”_

_“I love you Sherlock.”_

_“John!”_

It’s dark when Sherlock wakes, blinking in the darkness of the bathroom. The blood on his wrists is dried, cracking and pulling as he moves. He gags at the unpleasant scent of stale blood, pushing himself painfully to his feet.

“John?” He called, stumbling from the bathroom. The flat was dark and empty, no one had been there for years.

His skull was not on the mantle.

This wasn’t real.

He had trapped himself in a memory, lost somewhere in the depths of his mind palace.

_“Sherlock?”_ The voice filled the flat and startled Sherlock. He collapsed to the floor, looking around helplessly as he tried to find the source of the voice.

“John?” His chest tightened as he recognized the loud voice. “John! I’m here! Please! I remember you!”

_“God Sherlock, what have you done?”_

“John! I’m here!” He pulled open the door to the flat, trying to find his way out.

A young man pushed his way into the flat, grinning softly at Sherlock. He knew this boy; his memories were tucked deep into the back corner of his mind palace. Suddenly, Sherlock knew where he was.

It was the night he left Victor Trevor. The night of his first suicide attempt.

“N-No, no you can’t be here-”

“Sherlock? What’s wrong darling?” Victor asked, placing a hand on his shoulder and watching him with concern. “Are you- are you, high?”

“You have to leave.”

“Jesus Sherlock. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Please don’t. I can’t do this again.”

“What are you talking about Love?” Victor grabbed his elbow and tried to drag him towards the bathroom. Panic gripped him as the memory became clearer. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

“No! John! John please!” He wrenched himself free of Victor’s grasp and scrambled away, tripping over the rug and falling heavily to the floor.

“Sherlock, you’re delirious. My name’s Victor. Now, please, let me help you-”

“No! You’re not real! John! John!” His vision blurred as his breathing turned erratic. Warm arms pulled him into their firm embrace and his mind was filled with memories of Victor. He could remember long nights spent in the other man’s arms, days spent apart so no one found out. He remembered stolen kisses in the university supply closet.

“You’re safe here, Sherlock. This isn’t real.” Victor pulled away, smiling sadly at him. “We can be happy here. In this moment.” Victor’s hands were on his cheeks, pulling him forward and kissing him tenderly. “Let me take care of you.” Sherlock shook his head, fighting against the urge to return the kisses.

“Victor-”

“Stay here with me. You don’t have to suffer here. You can build a life with me.” Victor was warm, nostalgia seeping from his very core, familiar in a distant sort of way.

But he wasn’t John.

“I-I can’t- I-I need- I need to get back.” Victor kept pressing soft kisses to his face and lips, but the pulsing in his wrists had returned and was making the affectionate touches feel miles away. “Please, I-I need John-” Victor’s movements stopped and he pulled away, a deep sadness in his eyes.

“This John, does he love you?” Sherlock’s chest seized in a heavy sob as he nodded. “And you love him in return?”

“Yes.” Victor sighed, leaning back on his heels and looking around the flat, a weight seeming to settle itself on his shoulders.

“Did you ever really love me?” Sherlock’s heart shattered at the question.

“I-I don’t know. We were so young-”

“You loved the challenge of me more than you actually loved me.” Sherlock sniffled and nodded, watching as the young man stood. “Don’t feel bad, I knew that’s all I could get from you. You made me feel free to love whoever I wanted.”

“Victor-”

“You really love this John, don’t you?” Sherlock nodded, knowing it was irrational to love someone he had never actually met before. Victor knelt before him, a soft, sad smile on his lips and he gripped Sherlock’s hands in his. There were tears in his eyes as he looked at Sherlock. “Then go, be happy my beautiful enigma.” He kissed Sherlock once more before fading from his sight, leaving him cold and alone, lost in his own memory.

_“Hey Sherlock. It’s me again. God, I feel like an idiot, talking to your body like this.”_ Sherlock fled from the flat, John’s voice shaking his mind palace as he ran, hunting for the front door. _“I don’t even know if you can hear me, much less which one of you is listening.”_

“John!”

_“I don’t really care which of you is listening, to be honest. I’m going to say it anyways.”_ Sherlock froze, coming to a halt just before a massive pair of doors. He had found the exit, but wouldn’t leave if John was about to tell him he had given up. _“God, I’m so sorry. I pushed you and now you’re back here.”_ A strange, tingling weight squeezed his hand and he knew he was just on the brink of consciousness.

“John, I’m here.”

_“I-I love you Sherlock.”_ Sherlock’s body heaved with a relieved sob as he reached for the door.

  
“I’m coming home John.”


	12. Welcome Home

John was pacing anxiously in the halls.

He had been kicked out of the room when Sherlock’s heart monitors started wailing, and no one was telling him anything. He asked every nurse that came from the direction of Sherlock’s room if he could see his friend, but since he wasn’t family, they wouldn’t talk to him. He called Greg, hoping he could convince him to call Mycroft.

“John? What’s going on?”

“Sherlock’s in the hospital.”

“Jesus. What happened?”

“He- he tried to- h-his wrists-”

“Fuck mate. Is he okay?”

“I don’t know. He was unconscious, then the machines started screaming and they kicked me out. They won’t let me back in and they won’t tell me anything-”

“Alright, hang tight. I’m with Mycroft now, we’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Thank you, Greg.”

“No worries Mate.” John hung up the phone and dropped heavily into a chair, growling and tugging at his hair. He wanted to be with Sherlock, sitting by his side until he woke. He wanted to be there when the young man came to.

A sudden commotion further down the hall drew his attention.

“Get out!” A familiar voice shouted, the sound followed shortly by a crashing sound. A pair of nurses stumbled out of the room, ducking as a tray of food hit the wall above their heads. “Let me out of here!” John rose to his feet, knowing he couldn’t do anything, but ready just in case.

The thin frame of Sherlock Holmes staggered out of the room, pulling tubes and wires out of his hands and wrists. The nurses reached for him, but he brushed them off, shouting obscenities and throwing weak punches.

“Sherlock!” He shouted, stepping towards the angry young man. Sherlock froze, spinning to find John. He saw him and grinned, a bright smile that looked out-of-place on his pale, lifeless face.

“John!” He tried running forward, but tripped over his own feet and stumbled, nearly falling. John shot forward, catching the pile of limbs before he could hit the floor.

“Jesus Mate, what the fuck are you thinking? You lost almost all your blood, you shouldn’t be up-”

“You weren’t there.” John gaped up at the man, not fully comprehending what he was saying.

“W-What- what?”

“I woke up and you weren’t there. I-I had to find you.” John’s heart began racing at those words, his head spinning and hope causing his chest to swell.

“Sher- Sherlock-”

“You dated him for three months, you would go to coffee shops, and the library. You hunted for a way to bring him back, then when you finally figured it out, you wound up with me and I broke your heart.” John sighed, Sherlock knew the memories, but didn’t have the emotions that went with them. At least he remembered who John was.

“We need to get you back to bed-” Sherlock grabbed his face with more strength than he should have had, and pulled him up for a kiss.

He was kissing Sherlock Holmes. In real life, the real Sherlock Holmes, and he was too stunned to respond.

“His touch would make your heart race dangerously due to the electricity it took to sustain him, but you ignored the pain and kept kissing him.” John knew he must look like a fool, but all he could do was nod and gape. “When you collapsed, he wanted nothing more than to help you, to try to restart your heart so he wouldn’t lose you. But he was the one that stopped your heart and it almost killed him knowing that he had killed you.”

“I-I didn’t die-”

“Let me finish John.” Sherlock snapped, rolling his eyes in a way that was purely Sherlock Holmes. “When I woke up, I was angry, hurt, and confused. I had a voice in the back of my head screaming at me that I had fallen in love with someone I’d never met. All I knew, was that I had failed in killing myself and was now missing a year of my life, a third of which belonged to a faceless man I apparently loved.” John was fighting back tears and could see that Sherlock was doing the same.

“Sir, you have to-” A nurse attempted to guide Sherlock back to his room, but was waved off by the weak man.

“Shut up! I’m in the middle of something!” He snapped, sending her a dark glare before turning his attention back to John.

“Sherlock, she’s right-” John tried, but was cut off by one of Sherlock’s cold fingers.

“I’m not a good man, John Watson, not by a long shot. But, for some reason, you seem to love me. I have abused you, hurt you, nearly killed you, and you still insist on loving me.” Uncertainty filled his features and he pulled his finger away from John’s lips. “I-I mean- y-you did- I don’t want to assume-” John grinned and grabbed the back of Sherlock’s neck, pulling him closer until their lips were just barely touching.

“Don’t you dare.” John whispered before closing the gap between them and finally kissing the man he had loved for so long.

There was no surge of power. No crackle of electricity between them. There was just the soft, slow slide of lips and the warm, firm press of Sherlock’s body against his. This was right, but something was nagging at the back of his mind. He broke the kiss and looked at Sherlock, instantly remembering what was wrong.

Sherlock was incredibly pale and swaying slightly on his feet.

“Will you please lie down now?”

“No! I’m fine-” Sherlock’s eyes rolled back into his head and he fell into John’s arms, nearly knocking the shorter man over.

“Yep. Yeah, alright. Little help over here?” Nurses came to his aid and helped him carry a very unconscious Sherlock Holmes back to bed.

 

It took almost a month for Sherlock to fully recover, and John stayed by his side the whole time.

When he was finally cleared to go home, John had to fight to get the whiny man out of the building without pissing off the entire staff.

“Sherlock, just walk away Babe.”

“But John, this is a travesty! They completely misspelled my name, and three of the numbers on my contact list aren’t even active anymore!”

“So correct the info and let it go.” He pressed close to the taller man’s side and leaned up, brushing his lips against Sherlock’s ear. “I’m more than a little anxious to get home.” He whispered darkly in his lover’s ear, feeling the lanky man tense against him.

“J-John-”

“Ready Gorgeous?” John quipped, sneaking his hand under Sherlock’s heavy coat and pinching his arse, giggling when the man jumped. Sherlock blushed and glared at him, furiously scribbling at the page before slamming the clipboard down on the counter.

“You are going to be the death of me John Watson.” He grumbled as he turned to leave. John laughed and grabbed Sherlock’s arm, clinging to it like a sloth clinging to a tree. He loved being able to touch Sherlock without fear of his heart stopping, and he was taking full advantage of it.

“Well, you’ve already almost killed me once, I’d say you owe me.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted saying them. Sherlock hesitated, almost stopping fully as John scrambled to try to come up with a way to retract the words. “N-No, no Babe, I’m sorry. That was stupid, I-I shouldn’t have said that-” Sherlock chewed at his bottom lip and frowned, still far too tense. John pulled him to a stop and gripped the taller man’s hip tightly, pulling him close. “Hey, hey look at me Love.” Sherlock blinked down at him, meeting his eyes almost reluctantly. John slid one hand up to rest against his cheek, holding his gaze and smiling softly.

“I’m sorry John-”

“No, stop that. You have nothing to be sorry for Love. We’ve already talked about this. It was my fault, I knew something was wrong and I didn’t say anything.” He pulled Sherlock’s face closer so their lips were just barely touching. “Besides, we never have to worry about that again.” He closed the gap between their lips and kissed Sherlock, a slow, deep kiss that left his knees more than a little weak. Sherlock whimpered softly as he broke the kiss, fighting to keep his breathing steady.

“J-John?”

“Yes Love?”

“I-I love you.” John’s heart swelled at those words. Up until then, Sherlock had only ever said that the ghost Sherlock loved John, this was the first time he had worded it like that. John leaned up and kissed him again, pouring every ounce of emotion he felt into the kiss. “I love you.” Sherlock whispered between kisses. “I love you so much.”

“God, you’re perfect.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, you great big, loveable idiot.” Sherlock grinned, leaning down and nuzzling into John’s neck, giggling against his collar. “Can we please go home now? I’ve been waiting for far too long to actually go to bed with you, and I don’t want to wait any longer.” Sherlock nodded and extracted himself from John’s arms, smiling brightly down at him.

Sherlock stepped away to hail a cab and John watched with unbridled love.

When they finally got home, John stood in the middle of 221B Baker Street, looking around and feeling his heart flutter. Sherlock stepped up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist, pressing soft kisses against the skin of his neck.

He finally had his ghost back, for real this time.

“Welcome home Love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the end of another one of my AUs!!! I hope you guys like it!! I'm writing another one now that I will post once it's finished.


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